If books are the source of all knowledge,
poetry the source of all passionate verse,
art the depiction of ones naked soul,
theatre the production of a mans sin,
religion the hand that captures our reliance,
science the code that writes all of creation.
These laws that man has written,
stupidity and common sense, right and wrong,
Anarchism ringing every hour of humanity,
bigoted bourgeois that hold parliament of our minds,
the expectation that the proletariate will rebel over
a theorist revolution rendered in the square of resistance.
What a life we breathe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem